


Summary Convictions

by Enfilade



Series: Contingency Procedures [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Break Up, Confusion, Developing Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, Love Triangles, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2018-08-24 07:44:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8363812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: Megatron gets a command position on the Lost Light and Ultra Magnus’s relationship with Rodimus goes to hell.  Now Rodimus is sulking, Ultra Magnus feels abandoned, and Megatron…Well.  Since when has Megatron ever been a force for stability?





	1. When It Comes To You

**Author's Note:**

> Explicit Rodimus/Magnus and mild Megatron/Magnus.
> 
> Most of what happens in this story is fully consensual, with the mild exception of someone being taken by surprise by the initiation of affection.
> 
> I’ve said previously that I would’ve been content to end this series with “Defaulters,” but unfortunately in-canon Rodimus really isolated himself for six months and that would’ve had to have had an effect on any relationship he was in. So, we’re back to two people making mistakes based on a mixture of past experiences, perceptions of the world and their role in it, inexperience, and misunderstandings. I’m not entirely sorry, because I’ve enjoyed writing Rodimus x Magnus and at least this way I have more to say about them. 
> 
> No, I don’t know what possessed me to name my chapter titles after 90s vintage country songs. 
> 
> I'm thinking this will run about 6 chapters? We'll see...

Chapter One: When It Comes to You

Ultra Magnus sat alone in the empty conference room, waiting for the _Lost Light_ ’s staff meeting to begin. He activated his datapad and selected a password-protected folder. Another two passwords were required before he finally accessed the document he sought. 

He wasn’t sure why he bothered any more: he knew the words by heart. Still, there was something comforting in the act of seeing them there on his screen.

CLASSIFIED SECRET

MEMORANDUM

TO: Ultra Magnus, _Lost Light_ executive officer

FROM: Rodimus, _Lost Light_ captain

RE: Personal Relationship Between Captain and XO

  1. This memo is to serve as notice that the Captain of the _Lost Light_ (from now on referred to as “Rodimus”) is in love with the Executive Officer of the _Lost Light_ (from now on referred to as “Ultra Magnus,” with the understanding that this document refers solely to the individual designated “Minimus Ambus,” and not any prior or future wearers of the Magnus Armour)….



There were several more paragraphs, but the document was incomplete.

And unsigned.

Ultra Magnus sighed as a now-familiar dejection smothered his spark. He’d been so sure that he and Rodimus would…maybe eventual _conjunx endura_ was too much to hope for, but he’d though there would be some mileage in their courtship, a pairing intensified by command positions on a long-distance space quest. He had thought that they were a _team_ in the fullest possible sense of the word.

After an initial rocky start caused by mutual misunderstandings, they’d finally had it out in a…well, in a conveniently placed storage closet for the physical portion, and then in Ultra Magnus’s office for the emotional resolution. Rodimus finally found a way to express his thoughts in a manner that Ultra Magnus could understand. That was when Rodimus had sat down in Magnus’s lap and written that wonderful memo.

That wonderful, error-riddled, and woefully unfinished memo.

It was partly Magnus’s fault that it was incomplete. He should’ve insisted that Rodimus finish it right there and then, but he’d been feeling very shaken. At the time he’d felt that it was more important for him to lie down on his office rug and cuddle with Rodimus rather than take measures to complete the memo in a timely manner. There was always tomorrow, right?

It had seemed like no time at all until the _Lost Light_ picked up Optimus’ emergency message and been swept along on a series of misadventures, including a trip to the Dead Universe for Rodimus and a wild search for Metroplex for Ultra Magnus, culminating in a desperate attempt to put a stop to Shockwave’s mad plan to terminate time and space. After that…

… _well_. After that, Ultra Magnus had gotten some firsthand experience with the sort of post-combat stress relief the crew liked to talk about in Swerve’s bar. 

That had even been the Question of the Evening during one of those ridiculous Truth or Drink games: _tell us about the most regrettable frag you ever had as a result of post-combat stress relief_. At the time, Ultra Magnus had not had a suitable story, so he’d simply glowered at Swerve and said, in clipped tones, that he didn’t gossip and he didn’t drink intoxicants. Nobody had tried to hold him to the game rules. Nobody had even asked him to take a taste of whatever foul brew Swerve had prepared for those who didn’t want to answer the question.

Ultra Magnus had a relevant story now. He could only hope that Metroplex hadn’t been watching those compartments at those times. Surely Titans had better things to occupy their minds than observing who was fragging inside them at any given time…right?

Only Rodimus could’ve talked Ultra Magnus into doing _those things_ within the confines of a sentient city.

Ultra Magnus had thought that once the _Lost Light_ was underway again, he’d gently remind Rodimus that the memo was unfinished, and their relationship as yet unformalized. While Perceptor got the ship back on track, he and Rodimus could finalize a few details and put their signatures to the document. It had warmed Magnus’s spark every time he thought about signing that memo. He had been looking forward to it.

Megatron’s trial had changed everything.

Ultra Magnus had been appointed orator for the defense by Optimus Prime. His duties had kept him busy, but not too busy to notice how Rodimus had withdrawn—from him, and from everyone else. Magnus tried not to take it personally. He realized that Rodimus was treating everyone that way. Sooner or later, the mood would pass and Rodimus would return to his old self. Surely he would.

But the trial had concluded months ago. Magnus would never have guessed that _later_ could be so long. Rodimus was not a mech known for his patience, and yet it was Ultra Magnus who felt his forbearance wearing thin as Rodimus’s sulking stretched on for weeks, then months.

Magnus had tried to give Rodimus his space—an opportunity to work out his difficulties without external interference—but now Magnus was beginning to seriously question his decision. The situation had become extremely worrisome. He _missed_ Rodimus. If there was anything he could do to help—or, Primus help him, even if he could only get Rodimus to accept a simple hug—he would do it. He needed Rodimus in a way he wouldn’t have imagined possible.

The _crew_ needed Rodimus, too. Without Rodimus, Megatron would be uncontested as captain. And Ultra Magnus just wasn’t comfortable with that. It wasn’t—could not have been—what Optimus Prime had intended.

At first, Ultra Magnus had been appalled by Optimus Prime’s “total visibility theory.” A Decepticon…no, not just a Decepticon, an infamous Decepticon, the Deception leader himself—in command of an Autobot crew? Magnus reminded himself that the _Lost Light_ was technically not an Autobot vessel, nor was everyone on board an Autobot: Cyclonus, for one, and a number of neutrals. Grudgingly, he also reminded himself that Megatron claimed to be an Autobot and Prime had not authorized Magnus to initiate proceedings to refute that claim.

Still. Ex-Decepticons were _not_ command material, and…

… _Drift._ Rodimus had no room to complain after allowing Deadlock onto his command staff.

Ultra Magnus had _known_ that all that regulation-stretching would come back to bite the _Lost Light_ someday. He’d _known_ it, and he’d tried to warn Rodimus, who hadn’t listened.

But now Magnus had to deal with the fallout.

Given that Prime wanted Megatron to have a command role, Ultra Magnus had taken _total visibility_ very seriously. The surveillance he’d initially subjected Cyclonus to was nothing compared to the measures Ultra Magnus took to keep an eye on Megatron. If Megatron did, said or even _thought_ something that could be construed as detrimental to the _Lost Light_ , her mission, or her personnel, Ultra Magnus would come down on him like a thousand tons of rock.

Much to Ultra Magnus’s begrudging surprise, Megatron had proven himself to be a highly effective leader.

The crew hated him, of course, but a leader didn’t always need to be loved so long as he was respected and stayed within the confines of the law. For the first few weeks, Magnus had been ready and waiting for Megatron to…to…he didn’t know what. Lose his temper and attack someone? Execute a coldly-plotted scheme to hijack the _Lost Light_ for his own ends? Rendez-vous with a crack squad of Decepticon operatives to replace the crew? Magnus could not tell whether impulsive fury or icy retribution would take Megatron over the line.

Months had gone by. The rest of the crew began to relax as they grew accustomed to Megatron’s presence. Ultra Magnus’ vigilance had _increased_ , because if Megatron were to do something, it would only be when the others had let down their guard. Yet instead of being caught in violation of the law, Megatron continued not only to behave himself, but to exhibit an admirable commitment to the mission. 

He made good decisions. Exercised sound judgment. Conducted himself impeccably. Ultra Magnus found himself starting to actually _like_ Megatron, or at least his leadership skills. He still didn’t know that much about Megatron as a person. The former Decepticon leader tended to keep to himself. But Ultra Magnus could no longer deny a growing belief that Megatron’s presence had become a good thing for the _Lost Light_.

He tried not to mention it, though. Rodimus considered any praise for Megatron as some sort of personal attack. Particularly if it came from Ultra Magnus.

_Rodimus._

At first, Ultra Magnus had thought Rodimus was just sulking, but lately he’d begun to worry that the situation had gone beyond an immature expression of discontent into something truly pathological. Magnus wouldn’t have believed that an extrovert like Rodimus could cut himself off from contact with others for a week, let alone months. Rodimus had remained barricaded inside his quarters, running his duty shifts by means of a monitor display mounted in his cabin, making mechs like Magnus do his legwork for him.

Ultra Magnus was getting tired of relaying messages on Rodimus’s behalf. It was past time Rodimus made an appearance on the bridge and conducted himself like the captain he claimed to be. 

Magnus felt he’d do anything just to hear Rodimus’s voice in person instead of filtered through a comm link. He feared it was far more than a matter of duty and protocol.

Ultra Magnus couldn’t help it. He _missed_ Rodimus.

He couldn’t just sit around here waiting for the situation to change. Magnus remembered the last time he’d made presumptions and swallowed down his concerns. He’d almost lost Rodimus to Atomizer because he hadn’t simply pulled Rodimus aside and spoken what was on his mind. 

Unlike certain mechs that he could name, Ultra Magnus learned from his mistakes. He would not make the same error again. He just wished he had some idea of how to go about it. 

What was he supposed to do? Apologize? He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. Ask Rodimus to apologize? That wouldn’t go over well. Demand Rodimus act his rank and do his job? Magnus’ was Rodimus’s executive officer, not the other way around, and it wasn’t his place to order his captain around. 

Ultra Magnus checked his chronometer. It was only a few minutes until the scheduled meeting. Since they’d left Cybertron, these meetings had followed the same predictable pattern. Megatron would show up with precisely two minutes to spare. Rodimus wouldn’t show up at all; then, later, he’d ask Ultra Magnus what had happened. Magnus wondered if Rodimus even bothered to watch on the security cameras, or if he spent his time doodling on the walls of his quarters.

Maybe that was a good way to reach out to Rodimus. Ultra Magnus could go to Rodimus’ hab suite and “helpfully remind him” about the staff meeting. That would make it impossible for Rodimus to pretend that he “forgot,” and if Rodimus balked, Ultra Magnus would mention being Megatron’s executive officer. He was certain that Rodimus would come if only to lay claim to his half of the captaincy.

Ultra Magnus vowed never to tell Rodimus that a ship could only have one captain in practice and, unfortunately, according to Magnus’ private conversation with Optimus Prime, it wasn’t supposed to be Rodimus. Not that Magnus was about to tell the rest of the crew, or he’d have a mutiny on his hands.

The more Magnus thought about it, the better this idea seemed. He’d get Rodimus back to doing his job, he’d get to spend some time with Rodimus, and get Rodimus talking to him again. If he were really lucky, Rodimus might even start learning some leadership skills from Megatron. But Magnus wouldn’t get greedy. 

As he set off down the corridor towards Rodimus’s hab suite, Ultra Magnus felt that the last few lonely months were about to come to an end.

#

Ultra Magnus expected Rodimus to ignore his first knock. And his first shout. And maybe even his second knock. 

Now, though, Ultra Magnus found himself hammering on the door, using his loudest drill voice to announce that he knew Rodimus was in there. 

Hound stood across the hall in the doorway of his hab suite, hands over his audio receptors. Crosscut and Xaaron had both poked their heads out of their rooms to see what the fuss was about. Magnus told all of them to move along about their business, which they had, some more reluctantly than others.

Magnus was on the verge of overriding the lock code and barging into Rodimus’sroom when the door finally opened.

RODIMUS, his heads-up display prompted helpfully.

SECOND IN COMMAND, LOST LIGHT (SELF APPOINTED “CO-CAPTAIN”)

HEADSTRONG. IMPETUOUS. GREAT IN BED  
YOUR LOVER (FLAG: ?POTENTIAL CONJUNX ENDURA?)

Ultra Magnus made a note to recalibrate that damned display.

“What?” Rodimus demanded, glowering.

“Staff meeting in ten minutes,” Ultra Magnus said mildly.

Rodimus’s gaze darkened. “I am not going to that _farce_ of a staff meeting.”

Ultra Magnus put his hands on his hips. “Am I to take that statement as authorization to accept Megatron’s decisions as the uncontested word of the ship’s captain?”

“Wha…No, you are not! Megatron is my _co-captain_!”

Through seasoned self-discipline, Ultra Magnus managed not to roll his optics. “Then _act_ like a “co-captain” and shoulder your half of the command responsibilities. Otherwise Megatron will be acting captain, in practice if not in name.”

“Frag _that_ ,” Rodimus said, stepping out into the hall and closing his door behind him. “Let’s have our own meeting right here and right now. Let’s plan. Let’s plan Megatron’s rusty metal aft into the _ground_.”

There was no ground in space. Magnus used his ironclad will to avoid pointing out this obvious fact. Or the equally obvious fact that Rodimus had no datapads, no notes, no evidence of any preparation for this meeting whatsoever. Having an unauthorized command meeting without Megatron in the middle of the hallway was ridiculous and yet it just felt so good to have Rodimus next to him again.

Magnus realized, belatedly, that he had left his own datapad in the meeting room. And he couldn’t bring himself to feel the proper degree of agitation, shame, and nervousness, because Rodimus was here beside him.

“Are we all right?” Ultra Magnus blurted. “I mean, the memo…the top secret one…”

“What memo?” Rodimus asked. 

The careless words hurt. It felt as though the tip of a whip had struck Magnus right in the spark. Ultra Magnus was sure Rodimus didn’t know what he was referring to, confusing _that memo_ with the other myriad memos that Rodimus didn’t care about and probably didn’t read, but the words stung nonetheless.

Magnus flinched. “I’m trying to talk about why we seem to have had so much distance between us lately.” He hoped that the sentence had come out sounding the way he’d intended. Calm, but concerned. He didn’t feel calm. He felt as though he’d swallowed a spinning brush, and it was now scouring his fuel tanks from the inside out.

“I wonder why that is,” Rodimus replied, and even Ultra Magnus could recognize the sarcasm in his tone.

“I _do_ wonder why that is,” Magnus persisted, projecting sincerity. “Rodimus, please help me understand why I’ve seen so little of you these past weeks.”

“You defended Megatron,” Rodimus accused, as though this act represented a personal betrayal.

Ultra Magnus blinked. He’d known Rodimus was unhappy about the outcome of Megatron’s trial, but was he really holding _Ultra Magnus_ responsible? “We’ve been over this. Prime ordered me to.”

“Prime _asked_ you to.” Rodimus folded his arms. “You could’ve said no.” He glowered. “That’s what everyone told _me_ after I let Prowl put Overlord on board.”

Ultra Magnus risked a glance heavenward. “There weren’t exactly any other qualified candidates putting their names forward to act as defense council.”

“No. Because it’s _Megatron_.”

Magnus sighed. “Please tell me you’re more ethical than Prowl.”

Rodimus’s optics sparked. “I’m more _everything_ than Prowl,” he said scornfully. Paused. Drew a deep breath. “Ethical how?”

“We can’t ignore our laws just because we don’t like Megatron. We can change the Law, yes, but we cannot apply those changes retroactively. The law of Luna 2 grants Megatron the right to be tried by the Knights of Cybertron, and if we don’t respect that statute, then we may as well throw out the rule of law entirely and watch our species descend into anarchy.”

“Yeah, okay,” Rodimus said reluctantly, in a way that Ultra Magnus had come to realize meant more than the definitions of _yes_ and _all right_. Ultra Magnus had learned that Rodimus’ tone implied that Rodimus was agreeing begrudgingly and with protest, but Magnus had not yet come to understand subtext well enough to guess at the nature of that protest.

“What?” Ultra Magnus asked, because with Rodimus he often needed to request an explicit translation. “What don’t you agree with?”

Rodimus frowned. “Okay, I accept that the law says that someone had to defend Megatron, and I even understand why you felt you had to do what Prime asked you to, but you didn’t have to do such a good job of it.”

“Are you implying that I should’ve feigned incompetence to an extent detrimental to Megatron’s case?”

Rodimus scuffled his foot. Magnus could interpret that gesture. Rodimus was unwilling to say _yes,_ and unable to say _no_. 

Ultra Magnus pressed his case, wondering when he’d ended up being his own defense council. “If you’ll give me an opportunity to get two words in edgewise, I’d like to point out that the argument which got Megatron a stay of verdict and a position aboard this ship was his own. _Not mine_. His own.”

“Then why did you have to defend him at all?” Rodimus’ temper flared. “Why not just let him defend himself, given as he’s so good at it?”

“The neutrals demanded a fair trial. If we didn’t treat Megatron with the courtesy due any other Autobot, they would have accused us of being biased, and Rodimus, _they would have been right_.”

“That’s assuming you accept Megatron as an Autobot. I, for one, don’t.”

“He’s a Cybertronian, and so are the Neutrals, and so are we. The Law predates Decepticon and Autobot both.”

“I can’t believe Optimus put him on my ship,” Rodimus grumbled. “What did I do to deserve this?”

Magnus sighed. “Do you not realize that Optimus dearly wants Megatron to prove he’s had a change of heart…”

Rodimus opened his mouth. Magnus raised his voice and continued, “But Optimus has to be ready if Megatron’s lying. Optimus has trusted _us_ to keep Megatron in line. He’s trusted _you_ to deal with Megatron if that line gets crossed. Do you not understand how much faith Optimus has to have in _you_?”

“That’s not the idea I brought home from the Dead Universe.”

Ultra Magnus wasn’t entirely sure what Rodimus meant by that remark, but before he could ask, his chronometer beeped. The commanders’ meeting was supposed to be starting in five minutes. Ultra Magnus hated to be late, so he said hastily, “Listen, Rodimus, it would mean a lot to me if you’d come to the commanders’ meeting.”

“We’re having a meeting right now.”

Magnus pressed his lips together. “It’s in the ….

“I’m not having a meeting with Megatron.”

“Rodimus…”

“I’m serious, Magnus. If I show up in the executive chamber it’s like I’m, how would you put it, _recognizing the legitimacy_ of Megatron as an officer of the _Lost Light_. Which I don’t.”

Magnus felt his own temper starting to heat up. He entertained a brief fantasy of clapping Rodimus in cuffs and _dragging_ him to the meeting. Let him sit there in irons and explain to Megatron why he’d needed to be physically carried. Let him call himself co-captain _then_.

“Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus pleaded. “We can’t run a ship like this. Please come to the meeting. For me.”

“Forget it.” Rodimus turned his back, pressing the panel to open his hab suite door.

Ultra Magnus hoped—prayed—that Rodimus had misunderstood what he’d been trying to say. He tried again, hearing how raw emotion distorted his voice until he barely recognized himself speaking. “I need you.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you picked Megatron over me.” 

Rodimus didn’t even turn around. The door began to close. And Ultra Magnus, torn between the logical argument of _I didn’t pick Megatron_ and the emotional argument of _please don’t be angry with me for doing my job_ , ended up saying nothing at all.

The door of Rodimus’s suite shut with a hiss, and Ultra Magnus still found himself wordlessly staring at the place where Rodimus had stood just a minute before. He had no words with which to defend himself, and, as he began trudging back to the meeting room, he found he also had no words for the feeling in his spark. The feeling like it was being pulled in half, as though he had left a portion of it back in that hab suite, with Rodimus.


	2. This One's Gonna Hurt You

Chapter Two: This One’s Gonna Hurt You (For A Long, Long Time)

With each plodding step he took, Ultra Magnus wondered again why he wasn’t angry. He ought to be livid. Rodimus wilfully neglecting the responsibilities of command wasn’t just irritating, wasn’t just frustrating…it was bordering on criminal negligence. He should ask Megatron for permission to clap Rodimus in stasis cuffs and drag him to the meeting room by force if necessary.

But he wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t, because in the place of what should have been his justifiable anger, he felt a hollow ache instead.

Rodimus was choosing to blame _him_ for Megatron being on board the _Lost Light_. Never mind that Magnus had never _wanted_ Megatron here, hadn’t _asked_ Optimus Prime to give Megatron captaincy. Never mind that the only crime Ultra Magnus was guilty of was the crime of _doing his duty_ , of fulfilling the role of defense council after being asked to do so by his superiors. He hadn’t volunteered. 

But Rodimus was willing to convict him on the grounds that he hadn’t refused, and hadn’t deliberately botched the job.

The main factor weighing on Ultra Magnus’s mind didn’t have anything to do with Megatron at all. It had to do with Rodimus and what Ultra Magnus had thought was a fledgling relationship between them. A _personal_ relationship. A relationship spelled out in a memo, as yet incomplete and unsigned.

And now Rodimus had told Ultra Magnus that it would _never_ be signed, just because Ultra Magnus had followed orders and defended Megatron.

It was a ridiculous thing to ask of someone, and yet Magnus could feel no indignation, however righteous. He felt as though he’d been opened up and Rodimus had come along with a scoop, scraping out the part of him that was supposed to hold emotion and leaving nothing but a gaping void behind. 

He felt as though he were nothing but the Magnus Armour, walking around on its own, with no Minimus Ambus inside. He suspected that he would be able to do his job if and only so long as this sensation held. If Minimus Ambus were able to feel the utter devastation of Rodimus’ abandonment, his spark would shatter.

Best to embrace the emptiness and get on with his work day. 

It was a state of being, Magnus told himself angrily, that had always suited him well. It was his own mistake to think he could ever be anything other than a Duly Appointed Enforcer, cold and precise, emotionless and exacting. He should concentrate his feelings on his job, not on other people. Now, as always, people only served to let him down.

The door to the executive chamber was open when Magnus arrived. He hesitated in the doorway, looking in. 

Megatron sat not at the head of the table, but at the first chair on the left. He was reading a datapad and appeared lost in thought. 

MEGATRON, said the Magnus Armour’s heads up display.

CAPTAIN, LOST LIGHT (DESIGNATED “CO-CAPTAIN” BY RODIMUS)

INSURGENT, TYRANT, MASS MURDERER, POET

THREAT LEVEL: INCALCULABLE

Ultra Magnus still had trouble adjusting to the idea of Megatron being quiet and still. He automatically pictured the former Decepticon leader in a constant battle rage, threatening subordinates and enemies alike, stalking through life like the lord of all he surveyed.

It wasn’t an accurate picture. It couldn’t be. As Magnus had said to Rodimus, Megatron was a Cybertronian just like everyone else—an infamous one, to be sure, and a dangerous one, but not a monster, an alien, or a demon. It wasn’t surprising that living in such close proximity to Megatron might afford Magnus with a few glimpses of the former warlord acting like…well, like a _person_ instead of an incarnation of evil.

Then Magnus froze, because for just a moment he thought that Megatron had been reading _his_ datapad. The datapad he’d carelessly left open to _that memo_. Magnus’ pad still lay on the right side of the table, but it lay at an angle, while Magnus always lined up its edges straight with the edges of the table. Had he been so agitated that he had forgotten to be tidy, or could Megatron have been snooping on his datapad? Could Megatron have read…

Ultra Magnus reminded himself that it didn’t matter if Megatron _had_. He and Rodimus were both officers; there was no law against their relationship so long as they kept it discreet and didn’t allow it to affect their professional interactions. He was just inclined to distrust Megatron after so many years of war. That was all.

Ultra Magnus set aside all this personal nonsense—his old uneasiness around Megatron, his chaotic feelings about Rodimus, _everything_ —and let the mantle of his rank settle on his shoulders. He squared his shoulders and walked into the room.

Megatron looked up from his datapad and inquired, “Will Rodimus be joining us?”

Magnus sighed as he pulled out his chair and took a seat. “No.”

Megatron grunted in response. Magnus tried to analyze the sound for any hints of sarcasm or disrespect, but all he could parse was that the noise was intended as an acknowledgement. “Ratchet commed to tell me that he’s unavailable as well. Something about a medical emergency.”

“He’s covering for First Aid again, isn’t he.” Magnus recognized that he should care—First Aid was _not_ doing well in the wake of Ambulon’s death—but he found himself unable to muster any kind of emotional response for the junior medic’s plight. There was a time when this sort of null state was Ultra Magnus’s normal. Now, it felt awful, surreal and empty. Rodimus had brought him to life and then left him dangling in limbo.

“That’s my interpretation, yes. There’s something about you Autobots and hiding in your rooms…”

First Aid. Chromedome. Rodimus. Megatron might be onto something.

“What do you propose?” Ultra Magnus took a deep breath and took a shot at _sarcasm_. Risky, yes, but revealing if Megatron didn’t realize he was joking. “Kicking their doors in and beating them senseless?”

“I’m _certain_ that’s against the Autobot Code,” Megatron said dryly, leaving Ultra Magnus utterly lost as to whether the former Decepticon was responding with a joke of his own, or only restraining his natural murderous impulses because of the constraints of the Law.

Megatron might not be comfortable here on the _Lost Light_ , but at least he understood that he couldn’t treat its crew the way he might have treated his own Decepticons. Maybe. The more Magnus watched Megatron, the more he began to wonder if the former Decepticon leader reserved violence for extreme—or extremely personal—situations. Someone who led through the power of his fists alone would be at a loss if forbidden to use physical threats. Megatron seemed to be doing just fine as captain, even with Magnus around to ensure he didn’t get violent with the crew.

In fact, Ultra Magnus begrudgingly admitted that Megatron wasn’t a half bad captain, period. The crew didn’t _like_ him much, but Megatron didn’t seem to give two scraps if the crew hated him so long as they _listened_ to him. And, for the most part, they did. 

There were a few mechs who’d been outspoken about disobeying and causing trouble—pretending they hadn’t heard orders, or taking tasks to an extreme, that sort of thing—but Megatron had simply turned them over to Magnus to deal with. Maybe Megatron didn’t trust himself not to rip the offenders in half, but regardless of his motiviations, letting Magnus enforce discipline cemented Megatron’s role in the chain of command and emphasized to the embarrassed troublemakers that causing trouble for Megatron was causing trouble for everyone aboard.

Rodimus, on the other hand, was more preoccupied than ever as of late about being liked. Magnus understood that the recent vote to maintain his captaincy had shaken his confidence, and the events of Luna-One had left him feeling guilty, but Magnus still believed that being effective was more important than being popular. Rodimus, though, seemed to take everything so personally, as though professional actions reflected on his worth as a being. And those emotions negatively affected his ability to do his job.

Ultra Magnus wished, for a moment, that _he_ could have the luxury of curling up in his quarters, rereading his memo from Rodimus and trying to think of a way to ask a question that was gnawing on his mind. By obeying Optimus and acting as Megatron’s defense, had he ruined any hope of Rodimus actually completing and signing that memo—of finally formalizing their relationship?

For a while, Ultra Magnus had tried to convince himself that he was happier not knowing. Now, though, Ultra Magnus dreaded the idea of another day in limbo. He felt as though he, not Megatron, had been handed a sentence. He could not decide what to do next with his life until he knew where he currently stood, and Rodimus wasn’t telling.

Across the room, Megatron set his datapad aside. “Hm.” The former Decepticon rose to his feet. “It appears to be just the two of us.” Magnus presumed he was moving to the head of the table, to claim the leader’s seat.

“Hopefully we can still accomplish something.” Magnus rose, shut and locked the room door. Turning, he wondered about the security camera. He knew for a fact that Rodimus was patching into the cameras to keep an eye on the ship without leaving his quarters. Should he let Rodimus watch and listen to the meeting without actually attending or contributing? 

Magnus keyed the code to shut down the security camera, but paused before hitting send. He could hear Megatron moving behind him. He suddenly realized that he was in a locked room, alone, with the former Decepticon leader, and he was about to kill all surveillance. If Megatron took a mind to attack him, nobody would even know until it was too late…

On the other hand, Magnus was pretty good with his fists, Megatron was weaker these days, and fights tended to be loud. Magnus felt confident that inside the Magnus Armour he could hold Megatron off long enough for someone to hear the fight, break down the door, and intervene. Besides, there was absolutely no logical reason for Megatron to pick Ultra Magnus as a target, not when the _Lost Light_ was full of far more provocative crew members.

“Something wrong?” Megatron asked from behind him.

“Shutting down the security cameras.” 

“Is that protocol?”

“It ought to be,” Magnus said tersely, “when certain members of the command staff think they can watch leadership meetings on the monitors and receive all the benefits of attendance without preforming the actual work of participation and contribution.” Had that sounded angry? Had emotion tainted his usually steady voice?

And what was the damnable override code? Fury and hurt pulsed inside his fuel lines, point and counterpoint, call and answer. It was hard to concentrate and pick the right security code out of the list that scrolled on his heads-up display when his processor was a maelstrom of negative emotions. What camera was this again? SGS 2-32A?

“Is that the first item on the agenda, then?” Megatron sounded amused. “Dealing with recalcitrant second-in-commands?”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Why wasn’t his code working? The light on the camera flashed orange, indicating a rejected command. Magnus gritted his teeth. What was…oh. 2-3 _3_ A.

Ultra Magnus hated being sloppy. It was unlike him. Out of character. Unprofessional. And…

“Or maybe you’d rather forget about your problems with Rodimus entirely?”

Ultra Magnus’ heads-up display flashed with urgent red light as a strange warmth blossomed in the vicinity of his left arm. Magnus triggered it for more information. 

Oh. Just a proximity warning. Megatron’s hand was on his shoulder, turning him away from the camera. 

Magnus still wasn’t used to the idea of allowing Megatron to get so _close_. His systems still presumed that having Megatron near enough for Magnus to feel the warm air of his cooling fans meant that a blow was soon to follow. He was really going to have to recalibrate this thing.

Now he was looking at Megatron, not the camera. Megatron was leaning in, his face right next to Ultra Magnus’s. Magnus checked his audio sensors, but they were functioning properly; cross-reference with visual indicated Megatron’s lips hadn’t moved. The former warlord wasn’t saying anything. He was just really, really, really close. His other hand was now on Magnus’s other shoulder.

Ultra Magnus overrode the proximity warning, then searched for the correct camera code, feeling as though he were scrambling to keep up with events that somehow moved more quickly and unpredictably than those on a battlefield. Megatron’s lips were moving now, but Magnus was too busy to catch up with their meaning just yet.

No sooner had Magnus dismissed the red light than he noticed another flag on his heads-up display, this time an amber caution light. His body was flooding his processor with sensations, which he ignored because he didn’t have time to deal with them right now. Hastily, he sent the code to shut down the surveillance camera and turned his attention to the caution in his heads-up display. It was blinking because Megatron…

Ultra Magnus’s processor finally deciphered the signals coming to his brain.

Megatron was kissing him.

Well. Kissing wasn’t as much of a problem for Ultra Magnus as it would have been, say, a year ago. It was rather like having Megatron in close proximity—not as catastrophic as it used to be. 

Ultra Magnus knew how to respond, now.

#

Rodimus flipped onto his back on his berth, stretched, rolled to his left side, curled up, uncurled, turned over, and finally sat up. He grabbed the tarp at the foot of the berth and fell back, pulling the cover over his head as he did so. It was dim and warm under the tarp, but his body refused to relax.

He really hadn’t been fair to Ultra Magnus.

In his spark, Rodimus knew that Ultra Magnus wasn’t responsible for the current miserable situation that Rodimus found himself trapped in. Putting Megatron on the _Lost Light_ had been Optimus Prime’s decision. Spurring Megatron to fight back at the trial—that had been Starscream’s doing. Or perhaps Rodimus should blame Bumblebee for making friends with Megatron in the first place. Ultra Magnus had only been doing his job. And just because he was the easiest person for Rodimus to snap at didn’t mean he deserved to bear the brunt of Rodimus’ sdiscontent.

Rodimus just…felt horrible.

It wasn’t fair that after saving every cold-constructed Cybertronian, Rodimus’ reward wasn’t accolades or support or having a song written in his honour—it had been suffering through a vote on whether he even deserved to keep his captaincy. Because of the Overlord incident, which had been Prowl’s fault. He’d won, but it had been bittersweet to know so many of the crew didn’t trust him any more. Optimus Prime’s insinuation that he should have resigned felt—still felt—like a stake through his spark.

And Ultra Magnus’ name had been at the top of Atomizer’s list.

_The list was fake_ , Rodimus repeated to himself. _The list was fake. The list was fake._

He’d discovered that the list was fake at a high price. Ratchet had told him it was bogus for a simple reason—Ratchet’s name should have been on it, and wasn’t. The relief Rodimus felt at knowing that his Ultra Magnus hadn’t let him down was replaced by the knowledge that he’d lost the CMO’s confidence for reasons Ratchet hadn’t been willing to explain. And then another thought had struck him.

Just because the list was fake didn’t mean Ultra Magnus _hadn’t_ voted against him.

Somewhere during Megatron’s trial, Rodimus had managed to convince himself that Ultra Magnus…and Blaster, and Skids, and Hound, and everyone else who mattered to him, had cast votes to demote him. He’d looked at Ultra Magnus up there on the stand next to Megatron and wondered how he could’ve screwed up so badly that Magnus preferred _Megatron_ over him. Surely Magnus had to know how badly Rodimus wanted to see Megatron’s lifeless corpse entombed somewhere where it could never rise up and hurt people he cared about ever again.

It occurred to Rodimus that his head was in a very dark place, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he got here. 

Lately he felt as though he couldn’t trust his own perceptions, his own emotions. Megatron was out to get him. Optimus Prime scorned him. His own crew hated him. Real, or waking nightmares posing as reality? He couldn’t tell.

Had Magnus really backstabbed him? Or had whatever it was that was driving him down into this state lied to him, convincing him it was like Luna One all over again, that Magnus had betrayed him, first to Tyrest, then to Megatron?

Ultra Magnus had apologized for Luna One. Begged forgiveness. He’d seemed really upset after they’d returned to the _Lost Light._ He’d taken Rodimus in his arms, in his berth. Held him. Let Rodimus kiss him.

Let Rodimus teach him to kiss back.

Taken Rodimus to his wash station…

Rodimus shook his head as though trying to clear the cobwebs that seemed to have infested his thoughts. Ultra Magnus was the _last_ mech who’d use interface as a tool to manipulate someone. Magnus had seemed on the verge of terrified throughout their entire encounter. He’d said he wasn’t a virgin, but the more Rodimus thought about it, the less he believed it. Magnus had not had any idea what to do in the berth—not until Rodimus taught him, and he was a very fast learner, very _thorough_ too….mmm…

Rodimus shook his head, unable to afford the luxury of a fantasy now.

The point was that Ultra Magnus had gone far outside his comfort zone to be with Rodimus, and comfort Rodimus, and those were not the actions of a traitor or a manipulator. Ultra Magnus had done something very unlike himself and now carried the consequences. Rodimus remembered how agitated Magnus had become when, after misunderstanding Rodimus’s attempts to ask him out on a proper date, he’d seen Rodimus and Atomizer flirting on the security cameras. 

Rodimus still felt a little guilty over that. He hadn’t intended to upset Magnus. But he’d honestly thought Magnus had dumped him, and it all turned out for the best in the end, right? Who knows how long he and Magnus might’ve gone on misunderstanding each other, otherwise. Magnus had split up Rodimus and Atomizer and in the process made it clear that he really _did_ want to continue their affair, that he really _did_ like Rodimus as more than a commander.

Or at least, that he liked Rodimus as a berth partner. Magnus sure seemed to like Megatron as a commander.

Rodimus’s rational side reminded him that he hadn’t been acting very commander-like lately. He pushed it aside. How was he supposed to command when neither Optimus Prime nor his own crew believed in him? 

That logical voice refused to be ignored. It reminded him that he’d talked to Rung and decided that the smart thing to do would be to stop fooling around with Ultra Magnus. It chided him that he wouldn’t be able to command at all if he stayed here, locked in his quarters, while Megatron, Ultra Magnus and maybe Ratchet had a command meeting in his absence. 

Fortunately, there was an easy fix for that. Rodimus sat up, letting the tarp tumble off his face and pool around his waist. He grabbed a datapad from his bedside table and activated the feed from the audio surveillance bugs which Red Alert had placed in the conference room before the _Lost Light_ had first set off from Cybertron. The voices playing over his speakers suggested that he had patched into the correct room. 

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” That was definitely Ultra Magnus.

Rodimus listened as he scrolled down the list of visual feeds, searching for the corresponding camera for that room. There it was, 2-33A. He heard his own name.…something about Magnus supposedly having some kind of _problem_ with him? 

That hurt. Rodimus let his temper flare and burn it all away. Magnus thought Rodimus was being immature for staying in his room to….to _take stock_ , and plan and strategize and stuff, but it was totally okay for Magnus to go tattling to Megatron? Yeah, really mature. Rodimus was going to have to have a long talk with Ultra Magnus about loyalty. Maybe Rodimus should put that in those memos Magnus was so fond of…

Rodimus’ train of thought came to a screeching halt.

When Magnus had said _memo_ the first thing that came to Rodimus’s mind was the very thing he’d been trying not to think about: that damned list that Atomizer had given him. Had Atomizer known the list was fake? If so, why had he given it to him? If not, who had created it, and what for?

Was Ultra Magnus’s name on the real list?

And _why_ was he letting himself get distracted by thoughts of that damned list, _again_ , when he’d just realized what _other_ memo Ultra Magnus might’ve been referring to?

Slag it, he muttered as he activated the feed for Camera 2-33A. He’d been neglecting Magnus. He’d been so…so upset about Megatron and the things his own crew thought about him and stuff, he hadn’t even felt like interfacing. He’d taken his bad mood out on Magnus, even though it really wasn’t Magnus’s fault.

He was luckier than he deserved to have an executive officer as devoted and faithful as Ultra Magnus.

Well, he’d make it up to Magnus, starting tonight. As soon as this stupid meeting was over, Rodimus would comm Magnus with a meeting request—maybe in Magnus’s office. Set Magnus at ease, give him some authority. 

Rodimus felt his engine rev and grinned. Yeah, that was the stuff. He’d get his swagger back and soon he’d have Ultra Magnus exactly where he wanted him. Or Magnus would have _him_. They were really the same thing, in the end.

But be damned if he was going to make nicey-nice with Megatron. This meeting was probably going to be a big waste of time, anyway. Probably Ultra Magnus having fun reading out checklists and Megatron dutifully checking off each item. 

Rodimus took a deep breath, vowed to get to work, and took a look down at the screen on his datapad. The pad that had been silent for some time.

Rodimus stared.

And stared.

And waited for Swerve and Getaway and Rewind to kick in the door and laugh that they’d “gotten” him, or Ratchet to stick him with the antidote to whatever he’d ingested that caused hallucinations, or Ultra Magnus, please, Ultra Magnus to poke him awake and complain that he was messing up the bedding again and could he please stay still in his sleep?

_Oh please_.

Because this was no joke, and this was no hallucination, and the longer it went on, the harder it became for Rodimus to convince himself he was having a nightmare. 

He kept staring and on screen Ultra Magnus and Megatron kept kissing, kept touching, kept doing whatever it was they were doing without him, and then Rodimus saw Ultra Magnus’s tongue brush over Megatron’s lower lip and everything came apart.

Everything he’d been trying to hold together the last few months, barricaded in whatever room he could claim for his own. Everything he hadn’t wanted to think about Optimus and his crew and his homeworld. Everything he hadn’t wanted to face about his past, everything he hadn’t been able to answer about his future. All that time Ultra Magnus had been holding him together.

And now he’d lost his Ultra Magnus, and without Magnus everything shattered, running through Rodimus’s fingers like spilled fuel, irretrievable, irrevocably lost.


	3. Everybody Knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can't believe it's been almost a year since I last updated this story. Funny how time slips away... At any rate, I apologize for the long hiatus and am hopeful the next update will happen a bit more quickly.

Chapter 3: Everybody Knows 

So. The first item on this meeting’s agenda was _kiss Megatron_. 

Ultra Magnus would have been shocked had he been caught unprepared, but he was now intimately familiar with protocol for this scenario. Start slow, soft and dry. No need to be daring—he wasn’t sure what Megatron was thinking—but he could absolutely hold up his share of the manoeuvre while he worked out whether this was a drill of some sort, maybe a readiness test, or perhaps some kind of team bonding exercise. 

He was _really_ going to have to update his heads up display. Megatron was surprisingly gentle, his mouth warm and tender on Magnus’, his hands carefully supporting Magnus’ shoulders. Meanwhile, Magnus’ HUD kept predicting incipient frame damage, ranging from punches to fusion cannon blasts. _Override._ _Override._ _Over…to the Pit with it._

Ultra Magnus turned off the HUD entirely. He might not notice right away if his comm link pinged or if the ship’s alert status changed, but the HUD was useless when it was alight with inaccurate danger readings and besides, if anything happened that he needed to know about, surely someone would come get him. 

Magnus’ hands closed against Megatron’s back. _If you like it, you’re supposed to respond in kind._ Magnus let his tongue lightly brush over Megatron’s lip—a little initiative to prove he wasn’t simply copying Megatron’s lead. 

Megatron startled. Ultra Magnus felt the jolt pass through Megatron’s body via his hands on the former Decepticon’s back. At first he thought that Megatron was flinching away. The kiss broke, putting an inch between their lips. 

It was enough distance for Magnus to see first, the surprise in Megatron’s optics, then the smirk that lifted the corner of his mouth. 

Megatron’s shock was confusing. Magnus wondered if he’d done something wrong. Certainly he’d done something Megatron hadn’t been expecting. And the little grin was downright worrisome coming from Megatron. Ultra Magnus didn’t like the idea of Megatron secretly satisfied about something he was keeping to himself. 

Magnus was about to demand that Megatron tell him what he was smirking about when all of a sudden Megatron’s mouth was back on his own, the warlord’s right hand was cradling the back of Magnus’ head, and Magnus suddenly forgot what it was he was supposed to be asking. 

Instead, Magnus found the bulk of his processing power occupied with analyzing Megatron’s unique taste. The flavour of the kiss was deep and smoky, like unrefined energon and cordite. The warlord’s tongue swept lightly over his own, a surprisingly delicate brush. Magnus would have anticipated a brutal occupation, an invasion of his mouth, a plundering of his frame. This experience was nothing like that at all. 

Megatron’s left hand closed on Magnus’ hip in a firm hold. Megatron’s every gesture was filled with solid assurance that was crystal clear even to someone like Ultra Magnus who usually preferred precise words to ambiguous body language. Megatron was not possessive in the ordinary sense of the word: his touch did not pressure Magnus into submission. Megatron simply guided Magnus’ frame as though it was perfectly natural that he do so. Ultra Magnus felt his head spin as he realized there was a very large difference between asserting one’s right by force, and a dominance so inevitable that it saw no need to prove itself. Megatron simply took control and Ultra Magnus responded automatically. 

It felt _good_. 

He let Megatron turn him, guiding him where he needed to go, where Megatron wanted him to be, and discovered that he wanted to be there too, that it was a good place. His shoulder blades came to a rest against the conference room wall. Megatron stepped up against him, the former warlord’s right thigh between Magnus’s legs. It seemed an unusual position, but Ultra Magnus wasn’t going to complain when Megatron’s chest was so warm against his. 

Megatron was shorter, yes, but not by much; it wouldn’t be uncomfortable at all for Magnus to bow his head and reach Megatron’s lips, so he did. Megatron returned the kiss while his hands traced around Magnus’ torso, one down near his waist, the other up high on his back. Magnus supposed he ought to do the same, and since he wasn’t exactly proficient at these maneuvers, he simply imitated Megatron’s hand positions. From the way Megatron’s tongue brushed over his in response, Magnus decided that had to be an acceptable configuration. 

It felt agreeable, and Ultra Magnus’ analysis subroutines returned their evaluation: he was feeling _pleased with himself._ Ultra Magnus was hardly an intimacy expert like certain other mechanisms, but he was doing a decent job of this encounter. Megatron appeared to be satisfied with his performance and mutual enjoyment was the end goal. 

So why did Ultra Magnus feel as though something was amiss? 

It niggled at a corner of his mind. It was like…like a single crooked stylus in his desk drawer, or a repaired floor tile that was a slightly different colour than all the others. Megatron’s hands sought out the sweet spots on his back, but Ultra Magnus had trouble concentrating on reciprocation. He let his armour respond instinctively while his mind focused on the problem. It felt as though something important lurked just outside his field of vision. 

And since he still wasn’t comfortable with metaphor, no sooner had he experienced that thought than he turned his head, looking to see if there really _was_ something just outside his field of vision. His gaze settled on one item in particular. 

_The camera_ . 

Ultra Magnus was certain that there was something about the camera that required his attention. He made a note to take a look at it later and returned his gaze to Megatron, skimming another kiss over the former warlord’s lips. He was supposed to be making out, not fussing with the equipment. 

But his fuel tank churned. That sensation of missed data was bothering him, and with his heads up display offline, he couldn’t tell what it was. He tried to focus on the kiss, but he knew he wasn’t doing his best work, not when he felt so distracted by this increasing sense of _wrongness_. Unable to continue this way, he reactivated his HUD. 

It took a while for the heads up display to come online, and in the meantime, he slid his tongue between the former Decepticon’s lips and felt a gasp, then a surrender, from his partner. Megatron’s frame went slack in his arms, and Ultra Magnus, emboldened, stroked his tongue over Megatron’s. That, Magnus knew, was a favourable maneuver. From Megatron’s response, it seemed as though he liked it too. 

Magnus’s HUD came online, once again warning him that Megatron was very dangerous and perhaps not recommended make-out material. Magnus had to use all his self-discipline to override centuries of muscle memory urging pre-programmed responses to his HUD’s flashing threat display. It was all Magnus could do to close his lips and gently finish the kiss before moving his head back and concentrating on reading his HUD. Illuminated flashing arrows pointed back towards the camera. Pulsing yellow warning lights glowed at the edges of his vision. 

Magnus looked back up at the camera, unsure why his systems were giving him the full-alert response when the only possible threat was…no, not even a malfunctioning camera. There was a little light glowing on the camera housing indicating the device was operational. Whoever was on duty watching the cams would have no trouble… 

…Oh. 

Ultra Magnus felt a little sheepish. He evidently hadn’t been successful in using his command codes to shut down the security camera. Whoever was watching the cams would have a front row seat to the sight of the former Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord making out with the former Emperor of Destruction against the conference room whiteboard. 

That was probably…make that definitely…conduct unbecoming a co-captain and executive officer when one of those individuals was still being held on charges, pending trial. No wonder his subconscious had flashed the alarm. 

Magnus was not accustomed to being on the receiving end of disciplinary action. He wondered if it was possible that he might get away with this infraction. Perhaps whoever was on duty was distracted and not paying proper attention. Magnus sighed when he realized that if he _didn’t_ get written up, he’d have to go scold whoever was on duty for the egregious oversight. 

And whether he was punished or not, Magnus didn’t like the idea of someone sitting behind a screen and watching him doing something that ought to be private. Ultra Magnus did not like being the subject of other people’s entertainment. Such entertainment turned cruel all too easily. Minimus Ambus was all too well aware of that. 

Ultra Magnus felt torn between hoping the person on duty would do his job and come interrupt them—it was always good when people on this ship actually did their duty, and Magnus really could use some time to parse what had just happened between himself and Megatron—and hoping he wouldn’t so they could continue. Because Magnus might think better of this activity after some rational analysis and sober second thought, and before that happened, he wanted to enjoy it a little more. Megatron really was quite skilled at this and Magnus was now receiving the benefit of what had to be extensive practice in Megatron’s previous life. 

Who was on duty right now, anyway? Hound? Maybe it was Megatron. Who would Megatron have gotten to watch the security cameras while he came to this meeting? Blaster? Mainframe? 

Megatron’s hands curled around his hips. Magnus realized his brain was getting lost in minutae again. It was a bad habit he had when he wanted to avoid thinking about something. And right now, Megatron was looking up at him in a very inviting way that really ought to command his attention. 

But as he bent over Megatron, Magnus couldn’t get that camera out of his head. He realized he’d have to answer his question before he could give his full attention to the situation at hand. “Who’d you assign to watch the security cams?” he asked, and was shocked at how husky his voice had become. 

“Hmmm.” Megatron seemed to have trouble remembering, absorbed as he was in Magnus’ throat cables. “Is this important right now?” 

Ultra Magnus wanted to say no, but the lights in his visor had turned from yellow to red. “Yes.” 

“Mrgh.” Megatron’s reply was a paradox: a sound that nevertheless conveyed so much. Ultra Magnus understood reluctance and frustration and dismissal and, yes, a distinct preference for concentrating on Magnus rather than thinking of the answer. All that meaning without any words. Magnus felt frightened and exhilarated all at once. A tingle ran up his back struts. He clutched Megatron tightly. 

“Mainframe,” Megatron answered at last. 

Magnus sighed. Relief, or the influence of Megatron’s touch on his hips? All his wires felt crossed. Signals were so confusing, and rather than sort them out, he wanted to stop caring about them entirely and just let things happen. “Tell Mainframe to kill the security camera in this room.” Shivers ran up his back at the realization that he intended to do something naughty, deliberately and on purpose. 

Megatron chuckled. “You know there’s no security camera in your hab suite,” he said. His voice sounded like thick oil pouring over Magnus’ audio sensors. 

No. There weren’t. He hadn’t wanted anyone to catch a glimpse of Minimus Ambus, so he’d used his command authority to remove the mini-cam in his room. Hab suites were supposed to be private, but Red Alert pushed the limits of the definition in the name of security. Doorways opening onto public corridors were not private, and neither was anything in between the camera and the door. 

Megatron’s hab suite was definitely not private. Rodimus had invoked command authority to get suite 113 rigged with cameras, bugs, emission detectors and Primus only knew what else. Megatron either knew or had guessed; that was why he hadn’t suggested his own quarters. If they wanted privacy, they’d have to go to Magnus’ room, because in Megatron’s room, Rodimus would be watching… 

_Rodimus_ . 

The thought hit Ultra Magnus like a slap. Megatron’s mouth was back on his, tantalizing, inviting, but Ultra Magnus flinched just the same. 

# 

Rodimus couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen. With every passing second he prayed he’d wake up. The churning feeling in his fuel tank grew stronger as he found himself realizing that there was no waking up from something that was actually happening. However unlikely, however unspeakable, this was _real_ , and nothing he could do would make it go away. 

His Ultra Magnus, optics dim, lips parted in submission. _Megatron_ , officially the worst person to ever live, with his hands all over Magnus as though Magnus were _his_ … 

…making Magnus sigh like that. 

Rodimus felt sick when he realized that this was exactly what he’d done to Ultra Magnus when he’d hatched his little scheme to make out with Atomizer in front of the security camera outside Swerve’s, knowing damned well Magnus was on bridge duty and would see them. 

At the time he’d thought he was being clever. At the time he and Magnus had been caught up in a misunderstanding, each mistakenly believing the other was ignoring them after failing to recognize the other’s attempts at making overtures. Rodimus had devised the little ploy as a challenge to prove if Magnus were really interested in him or not. 

It had worked, and Rodimus had ended up having pretty great interface with Magnus in a storage closet, and afterwards they’d hammered out the details of their relationship. 

_The memo._

Rodimus turned on his datapad, fingers trembling, because he and Magnus had agreed they’d be monogamous. It wasn’t like Ultra Magnus to…to cheat. That was supposed to be the kind of mistake Rodimus made, not Magnus. That was… 

The document opened near the bottom. 

The _unsigned_ bottom. 

The _incomplete, unfinished_ bottom. 

Rodimus heard Magnus droning on that unsigned memos were only drafts, unable to be distributed or more importantly, enforced, and _Rodimus are you listening to me? We need to get this information out to the crew so they can begin acting on it…Rodimus!_

Rodimus sobbed. 

He hadn’t finished that stupid memo. Magnus must’ve thought he wasn’t _ever_ going to finish it. That he’d _deliberately_ left it unsigned. ‘ 

They weren’t a couple without his signature. 

Now Magnus was making out with Megatron, and Rodimus was being punished for his failure. He’d been so busy trying to come to terms with the vote and the trial and that stupid list of Atomizer’s and his new co-captain that he’d forgotten all about Ultra Magnus. He’d taken out his bad mood on Ultra Magnus. Magnus had moved on, and there was no one for Rodimus to blame but himself. 

_You thought he’d wait for you._

_You thought he’d always be there._

_And he would have been—if you’d asked him in a way he could understand._

Rodimus gasped as he realized how selfish he’d been. Yes, he’d been hurting, but he’d not given a moment’s thought to how Magnus must have been hurting too. 

His memory banks brought up the image of Magnus flinching away from him as he’d cut Magnus off when he’d tried to ask about the memo. Not the fake list of names from the vote Rodimus didn’t want to think about, but _this_ memo. 

_He asked if you still wanted him, and what did you do? You tore into him for doing his job and defending Megatron._

Rodimus thought about storming down to that meeting room and demanding to know what Megatron was doing with _his_ Ultra Magnus, but he hadn’t even reached the door before he stopped. The truth was, he had no grounds on which to break them up. Megatron was his equal in rank, not his subordinate to order around. Magnus wasn’t, apparently, his partner after all, through no one’s fault but his own. The scene on the camera was obviously consensual. 

_Rodimus, you messed up._

_You accused him of liking Megatron better than you and guess what? After you shoved him away, he took your advice._

_And this is all your fault._

It hurt. It felt like he was being gored through the spark. He stared at the image, unwilling to see and unable to look away. This was his punishment. 

He wrenched his gaze away, but when he shut his optics, the scene continued. His mind insisted on imagining Megatron fragging Ultra Magnus over the conference room table. Rodimus reached up and turned the monitor off. He had no idea how far Rodimus and Megatron’s little session was going to go, but he knew he couldn’t bear to watch any more. The images his mind kept conjuring up were going to be torment enough. 

Rodimus curled up on his berth and sobbed. 

# 

Ultra Magnus flinched and Megatron stopped the kiss immediately. Magnus had expected Megatron to be angry, or demanding at least. Instead he simply waited respectfully for Magnus to elaborate. 

“Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus choked. His systems still thrummed with charge, and now he didn’t know what he was supposed to do about that. 

Megatron kept his expression carefully neutral. “What _about_ Rodimus?” 

Ultra Magnus stared into that camera, feeling like a criminal who’d just been caught in the act. “What if he found out?” 

“What if he did?” But Megatron took a step back, pulling away from Ultra Magnus. “Are you courting him?” Megatron inquired. 

As if Magnus, not Rodimus, would be able to make such a choice. That would be an inversion of command, strange and terrifying to Ultra Magnus. It was Rodimus’ choice to make. It didn’t matter how much he cared about Rodimus. Rodimus had to decide. 

And the memo was still unsigned. 

“No,” Ultra Magnus stammered. 

Megatron inclined his head with the slightest of smiles. “Then what’s the problem?” 

Realization crashed over Ultra Magnus with the force of an explosion. 

The entire reason Ultra Magnus had been fiddling with that camera in the first place was to stop Rodimus from watching the command meeting that he’d chosen not to attend. Magnus was sure he’d turned it off. But the little glowing light indicated that it was on again. 

Had Ultra Magnus made a mistake? 

Or had someone turned it back on again? 

Mainframe? 

_Or Rodimus_ ? 

Ultra Magnus felt his fuel tanks clench up tight. _What if Rodimus saw me with Megatron? The way I saw him with Atomizer?_

“Ultra Magnus?” Megatron asked. 

_So what if he did?_ Ultra Magnus thought with surprising anger. _Megatron is right. Rodimus and I aren’t courting. I am a free agent under the rules. Rodimus fooled around with Atomizer—why can’t I do the same with Megatron?_

There was something strangely appealing about the idea of giving Rodimus a taste of his own medicine. _Let him find out what it feels like to be on the other end._

Except that there was one insurmountable problem with that idea. 

Ultra Magnus knew exactly how horrible it felt to be on the other end. 

He remembered watching Rodimus and Atomizer making out while his hands shook with barely contained fury and his spark churned madly in his chest. He remembered how it had taken all the strength he possessed not to storm down there and slug Atomizer in the face. To tell him that Rodimus was _his_. 

Ultra Magnus imagined Rodimus storming down here to tell Megatron that Ultra Magnus belonged to him and felt a twitch of interest from his spike. 

He shut that down fast. This was not the time for arousal. He was having problems enough with his frame craving Megatron’s touch: the last thing he wanted was to get his spike involved. Would Megatron even _want_ his spike? He’d heard that Megatron strongly preferred to use his. There was no way Ultra Magnus wanted Megatron or anyone else anywhere near his valve. 

Good Primus, would this business with Megatron go far enough to involve spikes and valves? 

Ultra Magnus shivered. Somehow he’d never even thought about that. Kissing Megatron had been very agreeable, but Ultra Magnus wasn’t so sure he was interested in interfacing with him. 

_Maybe you ought to think about these sorts of things_ before _you get yourself involved in a makeout session with Megatron. How far are you willing to go with him? What does he want from you? What do you want from him?_

_And what about Rodimus?_

Ultra Magnus felt his tanks turn over again. 

He summoned up his courage. “I’m sorry,” he said to Megatron, and he really was sorry, because part of him thought that it would be the most natural feeling in the world to put himself at his captain’s disposal and do what his captain told him to do. It had felt good with Tyrest, right? 

Until it hadn’t. And Ultra Magnus—Minimus Ambus—would not make that mistake again. 

“I can’t,” Ultra Magnus choked out, and his throat tightened. What would he say if Megatron asked him to explain why not? He hadn’t even begun to parse the reasons. All he knew was that his frame was bombarding his brain with sensations of distress in response to a situation that was supposed to be pleasurable. That for a while truly had been pleasurable. 

“I have to think about this,” Ultra Magnus stammered. 

“Very well.” Megatron did not seem fazed at all. Ultra Magnus realized he’d been expecting Megatron to turn angry. To punish Ultra Magnus for…what? For disobeying, or for resisting? 

Tyrest had hated resistance even more than disobedience. 

“Shall we postpone this meeting, then?” Megatron inquired. “Without Ratchet or Rodimus, we don’t have a quorum, and although I might be wrong, I’m beginning to suspect that you have other matters weighing on your mind.” 

Ultra Magnus stared hard at Megatron’s facial expression. He thought the corner of the warlord’s mouth lifted in the faintest of all smirks, but he couldn’t be sure. Ultra Magnus often wished that people would develop some more effective means of conveying their emotions. Maybe a light—yellow for happy, blue for sad, red for angry. Facial expressions were unpleasantly vague and ambiguous, and Ultra Magnus often felt as though he were looking at a code which everyone but him had the translator to decipher. 

“I agree,” Magnus said tentatively. 

“Meeting dismissed, then.” Megatron gathered his datapads and casually strolled out, leaving Ultra Magnus standing there like an idiot, overwhelmed by thoughts. 

He didn’t have time to guess whether Megatron truly was smirking and, if he was, what it could possibly mean. He should probably find somewhere quiet and think long and deep on this _kissing Megatron_ business—an after-action report of sorts. That would be a logical solution, but instead his mind kept coming back to Rodimus. 

_Rodimus had it coming_ , Magnus thought, but he couldn’t make himself believe that statement. Rodimus might have hurt Ultra Magnus’s feelings, but he hadn’t broken any rules. And to turn around and make out with Megatron because Rodimus had let him down…that was petty and immature. It didn’t do anything to solve the problem. It just made Rodimus feel as bad as Magnus did. 

Magnus felt troubled because the _problem_ , of course, was that Rodimus didn’t want to be his courtmate. And there was nothing that Magnus could do to force that to change. 

For all he knew, Rodimus wouldn’t care if he made out with half the ship. He was a free agent, too. There was no reason he couldn’t. 

But he still remembered how he’d felt when he’d seen Rodimus and Atomizer on the security cameras. 

Ultra Magnus folded his arms. There. That was a solution. He’d seek Rodimus out and tell him what he had done and see if Rodimus had any problem with it. 

Once again, Ultra Magnus realized that he might get away with questionable behaviour. Rodimus might not care. Ultra Magnus might go unpunished. 

And suddenly Ultra Magnus realized that it would hurt him more if he did. 


	4. Cheating on the Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to a good friend...you know who you are ;)
> 
> (Yes, this fic is still active and hopefully will update more frequently now that the move is over!)

Chapter Four: Cheating On The Blues 

_This must be what hypocrisy feels like_ , Ultra Magnus thought as he rounded the corner at full speed, sprinting towards Rodimus’s hab suite. 

He’d expected hypocrisy to feel…slimy, perhaps. Sleazy. Like being covered with grime _inside_ instead of outside. Instead, it felt like a completely irrelevant distraction from everything that was truly important. Magnus supposed there was a lesson in there somewhere: people didn’t become hypocrites because they enjoyed it, but because something happened that caused them to overlook their principles. 

Ultra Magnus had punished enough mechs for running in the halls to know that it was beyond inappropriate for him to be doing it himself, and yet there was no force in the galaxy that could’ve caused him to slow down voluntarily. 

He had to get to Rodimus’s hab suite _. Now_ , since he couldn’t just teleport there while Rodimus was viewing that damning footage. 

Magnus stumbled when he realized that Rodimus might _not_ have tapped in to the video feed. Maybe it had been Mainframe. Mainframe had been the one on security detail. 

What was Ultra Magnus going to do if he got to Rodimus’s hab suite and found Rodimus deep in recharge? Or doodling on his hab suite’s desk, now that he’d covered the desk in his office with those silly carvings he was so fond of? 

Or… 

What if he got there to find Rodimus _enjoying the show_? Rewinding it, playing it back? Magnus was reminded of the time he’d caught Rodimus and Atomizer on the cameras. What had Rodimus said… 

_Do you like to watch?_

No, Magnus didn’t like to watch. But what if…what if Rodimus did? 

What if Rodimus didn’t even care any more that he’d been kissing Megatron? 

Ultra Magnus felt sick. And confused. He’d… 

_Why had he done that?_

Megatron started it. 

_But I didn’t stop him_ . 

Ultra Magnus asked himself if he’d been afraid to stop him, or if he’d felt obligated to continue by reason of Megatron’s rank, and realized that neither of those answers applied. He’d been shocked, yes, but once the surprise wore off… 

…he’d liked it. 

Megatron was _good_ at it. It felt nice. Ultra Magnus had enjoyed it. 

_But Rodimus_ . 

Nothing felt good enough to be worth hurting Rodimus over. 

He felt confused and off-balance and generally awful, and he wanted Rodimus right now. He wanted Rodimus holding him and Rodimus next to him and Rodimus using his greater experience and wisdom to make sense of a situation that felt more upsetting by the minute. 

_Please let my captain set this right._

Magnus reached Rodimus’s hab suite and knocked on the door. 

Silence within. Ultra Magnus strained to hear over the noise of his own whirring fans trying to cool down his body, which was running hot, not from arousal but from exertion and worry. Magnus knocked again. 

Nothing. 

Heedless of decorum, Magnus raised his fist and hammered on the door. “Rodimus?” he shouted. “Rodimus, are you in there?” 

“Go away!” 

Magnus, on the verge of using his command codes to override the door lock, hesitated. Now that he knew Rodimus was within, he’d lost his justification to open the door “to be sure the captain is okay.” Worse, Rodimus had outright revoked his consent for Magnus to enter. 

“Please,” Magnus found himself saying. His voxcoder was thick with static; he could barely force out the words. “Please, I need to talk to you.” 

“Magnus?” 

The door opened a crack. Rodimus’s left optic looked out. “Magnus, is that you?” 

Ultra Magnus nodded dumbly. He didn’t even take the opportunity to question who else he would be. 

The opening in the door widened enough to reveal Rodimus’s entire face. “Megatron isn’t out there, is he?” Rodimus glowered. 

Magnus shook his head no. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

Rodimus stepped back. Magnus felt weak in the knees with relief as he stepped inside and shut the door after him. 

Rodimus leaned against the wall in his classic looking-cool pose. “What?” he said, by way of opening the conversation. 

“I…” Magnus’s eyes fell on Rodimus’s workstation. On the open security camera feed. On the inside of conference room 2-33A, now showing nothing but Megatron sitting at the conference table, quietly typing away at a datapad. 

Rodimus had seen the whole thing. 

And now he was looking at Magnus almost challengingly, as though Magnus were interrupting something important. 

Ultra Magnus stood there like a fool, at a loss for what to do. Rodimus looked as though he couldn’t care less about what he’d just seen. Ultra Magnus hadn’t done anything wrong—the memo stipulating monogamy between himself and Rodimus remained a draft, unsigned and unfinalized. 

_I can make out with Megatron if I want to_ , Magnus told himself. _I can…I could frag Megatron, if I wanted to._

Hard on the heels of that thought came another, very insistent: _I want Rodimus._

But Rodimus didn’t want him. 

He was wasting time, standing here in Rodimus’s room. Rodimus’s famously short patience was clearly at an end, too, because he pushed away from the wall and stepped closer. “Magnus?” he said. Magnus was sure he was demanding an explanation. 

Minimus Ambus had none to give. 

Overwhelmed, he dropped to his knees. “Rodimus,” he begged. “ _Help me_.” 

# 

Rodimus hadn’t had any intention of answering the door until he heard Ultra Magnus’s voice on the other side. 

Even someone like him eventually learned from his mistakes. If he kept wallowing here in misery, Magnus would leave and go somewhere else. To some _one_ else. So although a petty part of him wanted to curl up in a ball under his tarps and ignore Magnus just as he’d vowed to ignore anyone else, Rodimus forced himself to open the door. 

The last thing he’d seen before flinging himself onto his berth had been Magnus and Megatron getting really friendly on the surveillance monitor. So why was Ultra Magnus here in his hab suite, instead of with Megatron? 

Rodimus didn’t know and didn’t care. All he knew was that he was glad Magnus was here. 

Rodimus tried to keep his knees from shaking as he stood back and let Ultra Magnus in. He wanted to throw himself at Magnus and beg him to take him back. The only reason he didn’t do it was because he knew he had to prove to Ultra Magnus that he was _worth_ taking back. That meant he couldn’t whine and cry until he got his way. 

It also meant he couldn’t be too authoritative, or Magnus would think he was being _ordered_ to take Rodimus back. Rodimus wasn’t comfortable with the idea of their relationship being an _obligation_ , and not something Ultra Magnus _wanted_. 

_Like he wanted to kiss Megatron_ , a nasty little voice whispered in Rodimus’s head, and suddenly Rodimus felt angry. At who, he didn’t know. At Ultra Magnus? At Megatron? 

At himself? 

It was all he could do to lean against the wall and keep a neutral expression while the maelstrom raged in his head. He prayed he was coming off as mature, in control, captain-y. The kind of person Ultra Magnus would want. 

He waited, but Ultra Magnus didn’t explain himself. He didn’t ask any questions, either. He just stood there, a wild-eyed expression on his face that Rodimus had never seen before. Not even after that business on Luna One with Tyrest. 

“Magnus?” Rodimus asked, trying to prompt his second-in-command to speak. 

Rodimus was caught entirely off-guard when Ultra Magnus fell to his knees. The force of the impact shook the furniture. Rodimus felt the tremor under his feet. It had to have hurt. Magnus didn’t even seem to notice. 

“Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus pleaded. “ _Help me_.” 

Once again—as usual—Rodimus acted without thinking. He had his arms around his executive officer before his mind caught up with him. And when it did, Rodimus found that he regretted nothing. 

“Did he hurt you?” Rodimus demanded. 

Ultra Magnus drew away just enough to look Rodimus in the optics. He looked bewildered. “Who?” 

“Megatron,” Rodimus hissed. 

A low moan slipped out of Magnus’s lips. “No. I don’t think so.” 

“You don’t _think_ so?” Rodimus demanded. “What does that mean? I…I mean, it’s not like you to be imprecise.” He tried to smile, but the joke fell flat, because of course Magnus took it seriously. 

“I don’t understand what happened.” 

_Primus_ , _he really doesn’t know much about this kind of stuff, does he?_

A normal mech would go to his friends, buy them a round of drinks, and talk about this sort of thing. Crushes and dating and…and fragging. But Ultra Magnus didn’t really do _friends_. No, he’d come to his… 

Ex? 

Rodimus really didn’t want to think of himself that way. 

He felt that the universe had given him just one more chance. He wasn’t going to blow it. 

So even though it was all kinds of awkward for Magnus to come to Rodimus to ask questions about his love life, Rodimus fought for his relationship the best way he knew how. 

He threw his arms around Ultra Magnus and held on tight. “I love you.” 

The hug was awkward too, because Magnus was really big and Rodimus was leaning over him. Ordinarily he’d be kneeling too, or sitting in Magnus’s lap, but that didn’t feel right when for once it was Rodimus supporting Magnus and not the other way around. 

Magnus let out a surprised squeak that was entirely incongruous with his size. 

_Do you mean that_ ? the nasty voice in Rodimus’s head yelped. 

Rodimus was surprised how easy it was for him to stare that little voice down. _Yeah. I do._

Rodimus supposed this wasn’t how declarations of love ought to go. He should have taken Magnus somewhere nice, and given him a gift—maybe a new desk organizer to replace the one Whirl had swiped—and signed that damned memo. He should have taken his hands and looked meaningfully into his optics and whispered the words. But it was too late now. He’d almost lost Magnus because of his self-absorbed dithering. Now Megatron was moving in on his second in command, and this was all-out war. Rodimus was ready to fight. 

Rodimus let go and looked down at the kneeling Ultra Magnus. “I love you,” he repeated. “I was selfish and fixated on my own problems and I didn’t sign that memo even though I wanted to. If I’d taken half a minute to think, I’d have understood how important it was to you. How you probably felt like I didn’t care about you because I neglected you. I shouldn’t have done that. Everything that’s wrong right now is wrong because I screwed up, and I…I just hope you give me a chance to fix it.” 

The commander of the _Lost Light_ stood there, his breathing ragged, watching Ultra Magnus staring back at him. His fuel tank sank. 

Rodimus stammered, “I…I should be listening to you instead of making this all about me. Again.” 

“No, I…” Ultra Magnus swallowed. “I think that new information is exceedingly relevant to the current situation.” 

“It shouldn’t have been _new_ information,” Rodimus said weakly. 

Magnus appeared to rally. “Be that as it may, we need to work with the available data. Your confession necessitates a complete recalibration of the situation. Previously, my analysis had been predicated on the belief that you had chosen not to sign the memo due to…my prevailing hypothesis had been lack of interest in a monogamous relationship, though lack of interest in me, specifically, was also a contender…” 

“No!” Rodimus couldn’t let those words stand. “It was just me being selfish and misunderstanding what you meant, Mags.” Impulsively, he hugged Ultra Magnus again. “I want you. Nobody else.” 

“This is awkward,” Magnus mumbled into Rodimus’s chest. “I am not currently configured for this sort of hug.” 

“Oh.” Rodimus released Ultra Magnus, not sure what his statement meant. 

Ultra Magnus reached up and lifted off his helmet. 

Rodimus wasn’t sure he was ever going to get used to this – the idea that Ultra Magnus’s head could just come right off, revealing a smaller, green head inside. The face that Rodimus thought of as _Ultra Magnus_ grew still, lifeless, as Minimus Ambus tucked the helmet under one massive arm. 

“Permission to…revise configuration,” Minimus Ambus asked shyly. 

_Oh._ Oh _. Magnus…_

_…Minimus._

Rodimus still had difficulty thinking that “Ultra Magnus” was just a lifeless suit of armour with a smaller mech inside. The _personality_ he knew as “Ultra Magnus” was named Minimus Ambus, and he didn’t look anything at all like Ultra Magnus. He was tiny, slender, and green. 

Even the face looking back at him from the armour wasn’t the real Minimus Ambus. It was another suit, but at least this suit looked like the true Minimus Ambus. The true Minimus Ambus was so tiny that he’d have difficulty getting along in a world built for much larger mechanisms. It was no wonder that a loadbearer would choose to inhabit a suit that looked like himself, but larger—large enough to function normally in society. 

Rodimus hadn’t seen the Minimus Ambus suit since Luna One. Granted, he hadn’t asked to see it. He’d preferred to go on thinking of Ultra Magnus as the same person he’d always known, and Magnus… 

… _Minimus_ … 

…what had he thought? 

“Um…” What was the proper answer? “Granted?” Rodimus guessed. 

Minimus Ambus began dutifully removing the Ultra Magnus armour. 

Rodimus stared. He couldn’t help it. There was something about watching the armour come off that made him feel weird down deep in his spark. It wasn’t even just that his “Ultra Magnus” was turning into inanimate pieces on the floor. 

It was that Minimus Ambus trusted him to see what was inside. 

Magnus— _Minimus_ —stepped out of the last of the armour and looked at Rodimus curiously. 

“Are…” Rodimus couldn’t believe how _bashful_ he felt. “Are you taking that off, too?” 

Minimus frowned. “If I did, I would be too short for the proper configuration for this kind of hug.” 

“Oh.” It took a moment for Rodimus to figure out what to ask next. “What…what, um, configuration would be most comfortable?” 

Minimus lowered his gaze. “I…I don’t think I’m ready to reduce any more.” 

Rodimus could understand that. Truthfully, he could better deal with a partner just a little smaller than himself, than a partner a _lot_ smaller than himself. He’d never been with a minibot, and the irreducible Minimus was tinier yet. This was a much better size for… 

…well, it was a much better size for him to hold Minimus the way Minimus— _Magnus_ —usually held him. 

Rodimus pulled a deep breath into his vents and then rested his hands on Minimus’s shoulders. 

Minimus trembled. Not quite a flinch, but close. Rodimus halted, unwilling to push the hug. 

But Minimus gazed up at him. “Rodimus? Are you not initiating the hug protocol?” 

“Are you sure you want me to?” 

“I’m certain,” Minimus said, but he still quivered under Rodimus’s touch. 

“Look, something’s wrong,” Rodimus said. “Your mouth is saying yes, but your frame is saying no.” 

“My frame is being silly,” Minimus snapped. “Nobody sees it in the armour, but…” 

Rodimus froze. “Please tell me we never did anything you didn’t want while you relied on the armour to hide it.” 

Minimus’s lower lip shook. “No,” he said. “And I…” He vented softly. “I do want to, but I’m…I’m scared.” 

“What are you scared of?” Rodimus was almost afraid to know. 

Minimus looked at the floor. “I know you like Ultra Magnus,” he said. “I don’t know what you’ll think of me.” 

On an intellectual level, Rodimus knew that Minimus Ambus had been a disappointment to his House – the black sheep of the House of Ambus. Hiding his old self beneath the legacy of Ultra Magnus had been a redemption for him. Rodimus often wished he could leave his past behind and start all over again. Minimus actually had. 

But much as Rodimus had tried to make the Quest for the Knights of Cybertron into his own new start, he found his past following him, dogging at his heels. He’d taken off into space rather than follow Bumblebee, but he’d still allowed Prowl to pressure him into taking Overlord with him. He’d acted as though a crew of 200 was no more responsibility than the kind of small units he’d led during the war. He’d been impulsive and shortsighted, and without Ultra Magnus there to maintain some sense of stability, it would have been worse. 

Rodimus supposed that Minimus Ambus had followed Mag… _his_ Ultra Magnus. He must have felt like an impostor. A fake. Never as good as the mech he pretended to be. 

Yes, Rodimus could see how someone might want Ultra Magnus, but have no interest in Minimus Ambus. 

But Rodimus didn’t think he was that person. 

“You’re the only Ultra Magnus I ever really knew,” he murmured softly. He slid his hand under Minimus’s chin. 

Primus, but that little mustache looked strange. 

“Everything that Ultra Magnus is…everything I liked…was you all along.” 

“I though you liked me when I was big,” Minimus stammered. “You said you liked my arms…my shoulders…and that ridiculous spike…” 

“I do,” Rodimus said, because he couldn’t pull off the lie that he didn’t, “but I kinda want to get to know you like this, too.” 

Minimus raised his gaze and looked at Rodius skeptically. 

“I’m going to earn another chance,” Rodimus declared. “See if I don’t. No more sulking and no more…no more being selfish just because, yeah, I do like the big armour. But I like _you_ more. And that means getting to know all of you…or…getting to know all of you you’re willing to share with me.” 

“I’m not in love with Megatron,” Minimus said quickly. “I…” 

Rodimus put a finger to his lips, trying hard not to tweak his mustache. “You don’t have to say it.” 

“But…but _you_ said it. I’ve been subjected to enough of Swerve’s taste in media to know that when one person in a couple says they love the other, it’s expected to reciprocate.” 

“I don’t care about _expected_ ,” Rodimus exploded. “I care about _how you feel_. Right now you feel confused and that’s…that’s okay. That’s fine. All I want right now…” He took Minimus’s hands in his. “All I want right now is a chance. A chance to get to know you. A chance to be with you. The same chance I had before and wasted.” 

“All right,” Minimus said. He stepped forward and laid his head on Rodimus’s chest. 

This time when Rodimus wrapped his arms around him, Minimus Ambus didn’t tremble. 


End file.
